


Meant To

by plaisirparkway



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Alex has broken his brain, F receiving, F/M, Oral Sex, Swearing, but mostly - Freeform, cuddling lite, he's broken basically, its Mason being confused and having ~feelings~, its great, oh and, she makes him do a good deed, some bantering, there's not a lot here BUT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28318512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaisirparkway/pseuds/plaisirparkway
Summary: Hecouldleave. But it's really raining.Probably for the best he stay here. With her.Yeah, that makes the most sense.Or: Alex and Mason spend a rainy day indoors.
Relationships: Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	Meant To

**Author's Note:**

> A holiday gift! Thanks for letting me play with Alex and Mason!

It’s incessant. The goddamn rain. Making mud. Puddles. Slicks of rainbow oil on the streets. He can see it all from her window, where he’d sat and watch the sun fight against the dark rain clouds to rise. He hadn’t meant to stay. Not really. They’d wrapped up patrol and he’d walked Alex home. And he’d definitely wanted what came after. 

But he hadn’t meant to stay. 

Only, the rain had come on with a sudden brusqueness. Like a bucket tipped over above them. Even now, it drives steadily and then opens up in great big bursts, the kind where drivers have to pull off the side of the road, and wait for it to pass. 

_ That’s _ why he hasn’t left yet. Mason abandons the window and burrows back into the covers. Still warm and smelling of both of them.

Plus, he likes  _ this _ . 

He likes licking her awake. 

She’s been sleeping with her body all tucked in on itself—one hand folded over her bare stomach, the other under all that red hair, gone unruly from the way they’d spent the early morning hours.

And he likes the noise she makes as he eases one thigh over his shoulder and pulls the other to the side. She won’t be able to sleep for long. For one, he’s going to make a mission of it. But he can already feel her breathing change, feel her sliding toward him. 

The first touch of his tongue is soft, coaxing, but deliberate. How much of her can he touch and cover and stroke before she makes a noise? 

Alex comes awake with a little laugh and a roll of her hips that makes his hands tighten, keeping her close to his face. 

“Good morning,” she says, stretching the words out before her entire body settles into what he’s doing to her. It’s almost annoying the way she relaxes. Yeah, he wants her to enjoy it, but he doesn’t want her relaxed. Not until it’s over. 

He can only hum in response, because he’s picked up the pace. His face is buried so completely in her, that his nose bumps against her clit, that it's work to fit both his mouth and his fingers, and the noise he yanks from her is surprised and excited and  _ there it fucking is _ . 

It’s happening fast, from the way her hands fist and flex in his hair, loose from its band. The noises she’s making—grunts that maybe want to be words. She makes him hard. She always has. From day one. From day one he knew she would taste this damn good. 

He has always liked to hear his name but there’s something extra good about when Alex says it as she comes. It feels like a victory each and every time and triumph makes his dick  _ extra  _ hard. 

He rises from the depths of the covers and her expression is confused. Half-sharp, half-dazed. 

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he says, licking his lips. Her gaze drops to his cock and he strokes it, half to relieve the pressure and half for the attention. “Turn over.” 

* * *

He’s gone through three cigarettes while she showers and dresses. He was supposed to go back inside a cigarette ago, but hasn’t managed it. 

“What are you looking at?” 

She’s moving toward him on bare feet, in skin tight pants and a little top that doesn’t know if it wants to be a shirt or a bra or something. 

He likes the hell out of that. 

His gaze lingers, and his tone borders on lecherous. “Well, don’t you look pretty.” 

She agrees and hands him her coffee mug to hold. It smells stronger now than when he made it for her, and he hates it. It’s dark and fucking bitter, but she likes it, so. 

Hands free, she splits her orange down the middle. It’s a juicy one. The spray lifts in the air, and for a split second it makes a blur of her. Fat liquid drops that smell both tart and sweet and so does she. 

He taps his cigarette against the ashtray that made a sudden appearance several weeks ago. He uses the same hand to gesture across the street. 

“These two idiots have been trying to move this couch for a half hour.” 

Mason can’t help but watch as her teeth sink into a fat slice of orange. She’s not looking at him though, she’s peeking around him, to see out.

They watch the show in silence a little longer. They’re bungling the job so badly, it’s  _ almost _ not funny. The couch is soaking damn wet at this point and if the idiots could just lift it a little bit over the railing they could get it inside. 

“They keep—”

“—getting stuck on the corner of the wall,” Alex interjects and Mason gives a nod. 

She wrinkles her nose as he stubs his cigarette out, and a fresh wave of the smell of smoke and ash wafts around them. 

“You could go help them,” she says with a voice that’s meant to tempt and annoy him. 

Mason scowls and pointedly lights up again. “ _ No _ .” 

“But you’re so  _ strong _ ,” she says, voice level in a way that should hide her teasing but doesn’t. 

He lifts an eyebrow as she plays innocent. A long drag of his cigarette and a longer stream of smoke in the air before he says: “You want me to show you just how strong I am?”

“Weak,” Alex replies, “so weak. Go help and put them out of their misery.” 

They lock eyes and he tries to figure out if she’s serious. “What’s in it for me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Cheeky. Nate would call that  _ cheeky _ . 

In the end he hands the coffee back to her, puts out his cigarette and goes across the street yelling, “for fuck’s sake,” and gives the couch a heavy shove that it tips over the railing and gets it past the wall and one end falls heavily into the apartment. The two men are stuttering out surprised thank yous but Mason is already returned to his side of the road, crowding Alex into the apartment.

And he’s irritated and wet and her mouth tastes like things he hates and yet. This reward is of his own making. This kiss is what he wants most. 

He meant to make her squirm, punishment for forcing his altruism. He meant to. 

Instead, he bitches against her lips ( _ idiots don’t deserve help _ ), and she cracks back ( _ you loved it, you showoff _ ). Somehow, she also tastes amazing and he doesn’t want to wait. 

* * *

He likes walks. That’s what he’d do on any other day if the weather wasn’t shit. As it is, he’s watched Alex fuck around with her little houseplant and make her bed and wash her dishes and so much other boring crap his eyes are going to fall out of his head. 

When she turns on a movie, he doesn’t complain. He can’t tell if she’s really watching it. She’s doing something on her phone and has a book open in her lap, but they’re spread out on the couch and she doesn’t say anything about him  _ not  _ saying anything. 

He likes that too.

After a long time he says: “This movie sucks.” 

She points a finger at him. “Actually, it’s perfect.” 

Mason’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you serious? First of all, look at how he’s holding his gun. Who would ever actually hold a gun like that—” 

“You sound like Adam.” 

“You gonna tell him that I’m good at my job and know how to hold a gun?”

“Then he’ll know that both of us can handle a gun,” she says, sweetly, and he snorts. “Is this going to be a thing? Arguing about this movie as you prove over and over again that you have no taste?”

He smirks. She’s walked right into this one. “Oh, sweetheart, I think you know very well that I have a taste.” 

“Better,” she says with a little laugh. “Much better.” 

* * *

The rain peters down to a slow dribble as she makes dinner in her ugly kitchen and she offers him some, but nah. He should go. The rain is almost nothing now and he meant to leave a while ago.

Even so. 

Afterward, they crawl into bed. They should fuck. He wants to fuck. (He always wants to fuck. He’ll definitely leave after that.) 

But they talk a little. 

_ Not  _ a  _ lot _ . But some. Asked tomorrow, he might not remember what they said. But they make each other laugh, sometimes. And sometimes she punches him in the shoulder and probably he deserves it, but he tells her that it's because she missed her workout. 

That might earn him another punch. 

And it's nice the way she rests her hand on his stomach. All that hair feels  _ soft _ under his hands. 

Her hand slides down and then they don’t talk so much but the rain starts up again. Sounds like angry little rocks against the window. Sounds kinda bad, and he really hates the rain. 

* * *

The first thing he hears—

Well, the first thing he hears is Alex’s heartbeat. Steady and sleep-slow. It’s...peaceful. 

They’re so close, he could taste her if he opened his mouth and moved just a little. He could lap at the naked skin of her shoulder. Though he wouldn’t need it to remember what she tastes like. Or what the swell of her hips feels like. Or the way her scars feel under his fingertips. The way her skin goes pale, white, under the force of his hands and blooms again with pinkish-red. 

But mostly, he can hear her heartbeat, and that just makes him want to close his eyes again. 

He should get up. Go. If he has to guess, it's approaching daylight again. So yeah. He should get up.  _ Go _ .

The third thing he hears is the rain. It’s still pounding. Wayhaven will still be under the spell of it, tucked inside cozy homes against the storm. 

Real shit weather. Might make more sense if he stayed. No point in going out in it, after all. He really  _ does _ hate the rain. 

Before he can decide what he’s actually going to do, Alex stretches her body out against his, looping an arm around his neck. 

“You’re still here,” she murmurs into his neck. 

“Yeah, the uh--”

“The rain.” 

“Yeah. You got some place to be?”

She’s quiet and then: “Not until the afternoon.” 

Alex shuffles away again, does the thing with his hand on his stomach. He still likes it. 

Another ten minutes pass and he realizes he meant to get up five minutes ago. 

But he didn’t. He doesn’t. He won’t. 

He’ll stay here for now. 


End file.
